Poem: The space in between – Exodus poems 8

Photos of the River Deben, dusk – an in-between time.

Welcome to this continuing series of poems drawn from the ancient account of Exodus. I’m finding some common ground with current events, and much wisdom, in that story. It’s an account, from the perspective of the slaves, of their journey to freedom from the Egyptians. Both Hebrew and Egyptian suffer on that journey.

It’s taking me a little time to come to meditating on the plagues that beset Egypt. In many ways, it seems to raw, too close in the time of pandemic and climate upheaval, as well as a challenge of interpretation. What does it mean, to speak of God acting in these ways?

If you’d like to read more about the story so far, you can do so here.

For now, I feel I am standing on the brink of the time of plagues. Still in the space in between, between the request Moses makes – Let my people go – and the beginnings of the consequences for Pharaoh of his stony and cruel response. But I’m nearly there. Watching the news yesterday evening, I felt like I was watching something like it beginning to unfold in real time. The pandemic is accelerating once more, beginning to break away from attempts to manage it, and many are now enduring the related sorrows of environmental destruction with Atlantic hurricanes, wildfires, and difficulties with harvest. In response, we have the understandable political upheavals that arise at a time of fear and uncertainty. On Sunday, in the UK, we watched David Attenborough’s remarkable programme on Extinction, which helped us see a little more clearly how these different elements are related, related to our lack of care for the Earth, and for each other. Even those of us who live in what we may regard as a developed country, with a tradition of plentiful resources, can see this does not protect us from the common fate. Being a great and long-lasting empire did not protect the Egyptians. We are all connected.

In some ways, this gives me hope, as we can work together on deep-level solutions to all of these, by seeking to love and tend the earth, and to act with justice and mercy towards all – all creatures, all humans. It gives me hope that we will not be stony-hearted in the face of all this difficulty, not turn to fear, but instead, to compassion, justice, mercy, and the pursuit of the welfare of all. And where we cannot work together, we can take small steps ourselves. Jesus offers abundant life, God’s call is to live with peace – shalom, justice and mercy.

For now, we are in a space in between, where there is time – but we too are faced with questions about where we will stand at this moment, and also, how we will respond to the call for justice and freedom, just as Pharaoh was.

May we, this day, seek to live within God’s shalom, within abundant life, and justice, and mercy, for ourselves and for all.

The space in between  – Exodus poems 8

You stood in the space
in between
palace and shanty,
power and poverty,
ease and despair,
slavery, and freedom.

Knowing the language
of both, being
of-them but
not-of-them both,
you stand, now,
and with such reluctance,
such unquenchable fear,
in this dark no-mans-land,
this swirling God-space

You make in
the court of Pharaoh
as you ask for mercy,
and freedom.
It is holy ground,
where you speak
with the voice
of the silenced,
speak with the very
voice of God, but
no-one takes off
their shoes.

You spoke to power,
and it paid no heed.

And so, YHWH,
breath, life, being,
I am that I am,
will stretch out a hand
in justice.
What follows will be
strange justice,
A steady unfolding of
consequence,
stretched out like darkness
over the dark land.

Poem: Bricks without straw II – Exodus poems 7

This is the next poem in the series, continuing to stand in that difficult moment after Moses and Aaron had asked Pharaoh to let the people go, and before they reached their freedom.

At this point, as the slaves began to stand tall, and to hope, and to make their presence felt as fully human rather than cogs in the power machine of empire, things grew worse for them. Their labour was made harder. The first poem of this pair explores the moment more, and you can read it here.

It can be hard to see the way forward…..

Here in the UK, our steps towards returning to more normal patterns of work and school, of re-invigorating the bonds of family and community, are faltering, as we see that the virus is on the rise once more. Hope deferred is hard. Steps towards “building back better” seem to be faint and hard to find. Once again, we see those calling for a better world, for respect for all people and all living things, opposed.

But, but…… we know the right dwelling place for hope is in these dark and difficult times. Hope does not belong with blind and sunny optimism, but with the courage to walk along hard and stony ways, and to act from the faith that there is a movement towards goodness and justice and flourishing in the world. What is more, by acting, we can help bring such things about. We can know that Spirit broods over the face of chaos, seeking to nurture something new, and calls forth balance, harmony, and the flourishing of life.

So, as we reflect on how hard it must have been for the slaves, to see their hopes seemingly dashed, perhaps we can draw courage for our own situations, and know that this is part of the process, and that vision, and persistence, are powerful even in the face of those who seem to hold all the power.

If you would like to read more of the story, you can do so here.

Bricks without straw II  Exodus Poems 

Hope.
The people hoped
when they knew that
God had heeded their
pain

Spoken
through fire and thorn,
Spoken to Moses –
the one placed between
palace and slave,
of-them,
but not
of-them.

Shown Signs –
The staff-snake,
the whitened skin,
and its healing.

So long,
so long looked for –
through four long centuries
of silence and slavery.

But see now how
this hope has
shattered.
Their deliverers,
Moses and Aaron
have roused Pharaoh’s wrath
put a sword into his hand.

Now, the people
scour the fields
bent double,
gathering straw
to make bricks out of mud.
A cruel reversal of
their old story,
when God moulded
the first human,
in God’s own image,
out of the very earth.

Instead of hope’s promise –
liberation, a new land,
they were
crushed, broken breathed.
They could no more
hear the consolation
of the prophet.

 They dared not hope.
Their state was worse than before.

So it is
when liberation begins.
So it is.

Poem: Stamps

eadt woodbridge

Photo from the EADT, from some time before the coronavirus crisis

I had to go to the post office today, walking through the shopping street of the market town where I live.  It was much busier than it has been, which is good for trade, but means you have to engage in a complex dance of awareness and courtesy to give people enough room, especially near those who seem to be moving to music all of their own and not noticing the paths of others.  There is some anxiety even seeing your neighbours and friends, trying to remember to keep your distance, and suppress the desire to be close, to hug perhaps.

I remembered this poem as I was at the counter, which I shared with you some time ago.  I remembered it as I felt the absence of the connection I associate with running errands in the town, a lack of touch, and often of looks and smiles, as we seek to navigate a world where we look different in our masks, and sometimes don’t yet recognise each other in these new guises.

It’s a poem about contact and connection through a perspex barrier, how we long for such connection, and seek to make it.  It is also a poem about the gentleness we can adopt with strangers, not knowing the sadness, the burdens, they may be carrying.  It seems an appropriate poem for today.

 

Stamps

Two of the blinds were down,
Position Closed, but yours
hovered, unreadable, just
above your head.

There was   no queue,
and I approached you
cautiously,
clutching thick manila
envelopes.

Are you open? I asked.
As you raised your head,
I saw trails of tears down
your smudged cheeks,
such large heavy drops.

First class, two –
I’m so sorry.
You smiled, and
I stretched out my
hand and touched
fingertips to the glass,

Passed warm coins
through, which you
held a moment,
then gave me stamps,
straightening your back.

 

Poem: Strawberries

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The main crop strawberries are over now, but these little alpines continue – first one part of the garden, then another, is the place to hunt.  It depends on light, and shade, and water, and when the robins and blackbirds discover them.  We – people in our neighbourhood – are sharing plants, and produce, when we have surplus.  It’s part of the deeper connections we’re working to make, to give and to share.  It’s a kind of abundance and connection that gives me hope.  The Transition Woodbridge movement have been doing a marvellous job of facilitating sharing surplus plants and produce, especially during lockdown, and are continuing to plan harvesting from the community fruit trees as the seasons begin to turn.

 

I wrote this poem when the space under the rosebushes was full of big juicy strawberries – and I took photos, too, but my memory card was playing up, and they were lost. So the pictures are of the smaller ones, which seem to keep going most of the warmer weather. Whenever I eat the big maincrop strawberries, I think of the friend who gave me the parent plants to all I now have.  She lives further away now, but is still growing beautiful things.  She taught me a lot about gardening, especially about listening – to the land, and the things that grow there – and learning from your place.  I miss her, and, when harvesting strawberries one day, I thought of the good fruits of friendship, and its spread and reach, and how it enriches our communities and lives so much, along with the plants and the produce.  We see the goodness of the fruits.

IMG_1034

 

Strawberries
for Kay

Today I am thankful
for strawberries,
growing under the rose bushes,
festooned with casual netting
like a green scarf.

Some rest on the old
stone path, ripening fast,
others are hidden among
leaves of ladies mantle,
sheltered from sun and beaks,

And most of all, I am
thankful for the friend
I watched as she gently
dug the parent plants
from her own rich patch,
who held them out to me
with a reminder to
plant at dusk,
in the cool.
How they have spread
since then.

Friendship, too,
sends out long runners,
who knows where,
small plants that root
as the moment arises,
and how, years later,
these too give
sweet red fruit,
again, and again.

 

 

Little Free Pantry Update

 

lfp3

Thank you Elaine for the pictures.

Some local friends will know about the wonderful Little Free Pantry at St Andrew’s Church, Melton, Suffolk, UK.  You can read more about it here.  This year, during the coronavirus crisis, it has been a valuable way for neighbours to show neighbours some love and care, but it’s had a bit of a bumpy ride.  For a while, we had to close it down while the church building was shut, and then, when it had been running again for a while, the church tower was struck by lightning making the porch unsafe.

I’m delighted to tell you, if you hadn’t heard on the grapevine, that the pantry is operating again – but this time, from the foyer of the church room at the other end of the building.  You can access it via the little lane and the rectory garden.  We’ve been blown away by the generosity of people leaving food for one another. Word of the new location is getting out, and people have been amazingly generous. We’re so glad that people are able to use it to both give and take food, for themselves or on behalf of someone else.

The principle of the pantry is so simple:

Give what you can, take what you need.

Just come, no questions asked.  You don’t have to meet anyone, or explain yourself.  It is open
Monday to Wednesday, 10 am to 5 pm.

Church room foyer, access via the lane and Rectory garden.

If you are standing in front of the Church, facing it on the pavement, go to the right of the building, past the end of the wall.  There’s a little lane.  Turn into the Rectory drive and immediately turn left – you only have to skirt through, you won’t be disturbing anyone or anything – and you’ll soon be passing the church bins and by the door to the Church room. Do come.
It’s such a good way for the community showing love and solidarity at a difficult time.  We’re aware people’s financial situations may be quite precarious at present, and want you to know that the pantry is there to help you and your family, as a sign of the love of the community, and God’s love unfolding in this place.

To all who use the pantry,  to give or receive or both, thank you and bless you.

lfp2

Some of the additional supplies.